We were the kings and queens of promise

[What it says on the tin]

[This afternoon finds one failemp in his usual haunt in the library, practically walled in by piles of books on the occult. Yet, the laptop in front of him reveals only a blank page. He stares harder at the open curse book at his side, as if he could will the words to stop swimming together in his head. Thus far, he has managed little success.]

[It's morning in the garden and the air is still slightly chill from the recently departed night. But such things are of little consequence to the young man who rests on his knees by the largest patch of lilies, recalling another day in a garden considerably larger than this one and the jubilant companion that raced ahead of him -- through the paths of flowers, calling his name excitedly in her bubbly voice and mock-pouting when his attempts to keep up with her were frequently hampered by his own exhausted breaths. Then, another day, when it was her struggling to catch her breath, the flowered paths at her side now endless puddles of red, dark petals of the color staining her lily-white dress -- And again, she calls his name, eagerly encouraging him one last time to join her game.

The recollection is simpler than the dreams that brought him here, fantasies of them working together to forge something pure, pure and not wrenched from the bloody tatters of a bitter recovery. Something that wouldn't have been paid for by a litany of names stretching onto forever -- he had made it a point then to learn every single one of them. One should always know the exact cost of an exchange. Oh how that child that had teased him by the flowers, that woman that had beamed at him in the darkened headquarters of her precious gift to the Japanese (to the world) would have hated the entire act.

He reaches for one of the lily's fragile petals (yes it is fitting that this had been the flower she waited at those many years ago when things were still fresh and full of possibility). His eyes lower, no longer focusing on the flower but instead losing himself to his memories.]

And what now, Euphie? Would you manage a smile for the broken world I have laid at the lap of Nunnally and all the others who would claim it? It is not how you would have done it of course, but... I have never had your gentle touch. Nunnally does. You know it too. Even with everything I have done to her, bloodying her hands just as I bloodied yours, forcing her to claim each death as her own... she is still your sister. Her hands are more capable of helping to shape the world you saw than mine ever were. Just as I will always be the destroyer, you two will always be the true creators, architects of a future that I could only ever barely glimpse.

But is it enough? Even if it is accepted by our world, I wonder if it would be accepted by you. Or would you still the shadows of what could have been? I admit, I have long blinded myself from them. Perhaps, you would find some hope in knowing that those possibilities are now in the hands of the one who could always see. It is the type of simple poetry that you once cherished. Ah, Euphie?

[The cabin is deserted this afternoon, except for one failemp, who is positioned length-wise across one of the more comfortable chairs. He looks thoroughly exhausted, as he may have increasingly looked for the last several weeks. His hair hasn't been touched this morning and his usual winter jacket is nowhere to be found. Instead, he manages a loose hold on a few leaves of paper. Another stack sits beside the chair, slightly uneven as if someone has already gone through those papers. Luca rests curled but awake on the middle of his chest, her tail twitching rhythmically. Although Lelouch's attention is solely on the reports in his right hand, the left moves routinely over the cat's back, the probable cause for the movements of her tail.]

[Sometime after speaking with Cornelia and checking on Nunnally, who is still in a deep sleep from the other day, Lelouch heads toward his room to retrieve the piece of paper with the notes he had once taken from Muraki's book in regards to medications to help with sleep.]

[Stuff happened and now there's this:]

[Anyone who's used to a certain failemp making his rounds about camp might have noticed a startling absence for the past few days (unless they've been hanging in the hospital, where he spends some time everyday). Some might even take this to be odd, considering that said failemp has almost appeared to be in a better mood than usual prior to the week. Maybe you should check on him at his cabin?]




((FTR: Nunnally thread takes place the morning after this and Fuuma's thread takes place shortly after the events of this post.))

[Someone is waking up in his bed, a dull throbbing still registering faintly at the back of his head. And something else... the coppery scent of blood.]

... nnngh.

[The silence between the cornfield and Boys 4 has just been interrupted by a loud, pathetic puppy cry. Those interested in going after the poor creature might discover the tiny black kitten that is presently clenching said puppy's paw in its mouth and puffed up to twice its normal size.]

-- I told you to put me down!




((This is actually open to whoever wishes to jump it and save the poor puppy. ;;))

[Someone is determinedly trying to ignore both the light flush on his skin and the much more noticeable stuffiness in his head as he navigates the surprisingly complicated hall to reach the common room, mumbling under his breath.]

It is about time Suzaku convinced her into doing something else. This has all been unnecessary.